After I'm done, I ask Derek if he needs me to do anything. I figure if he sends me on errands, I won't have to say another sentence to him all evening.
He turns around sporting a huge grin. "I knew you were waiting to pounce on me. Want some of this, huh?" He stretches his arms out wide and wiggles his hips.
What would Sweet T say?
"Get real." You are so disgusting. I run out of the studio. Outside the door, I bump into Jason. Some getaway.
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"Whoa, where are you going?" He rubs his shoulder.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to maul you, but Derek is so nasty." I grit my teeth.
"True," Jason says. "Don't let him get to you."
"How?" I rub my eyes. Great, the one day I wear mascara I have to tear up.
Derek pops his head out the door. "There you are. Can't a guy get some help around here?" I glare at Jason.
"Derek, I think you owe someone an apology," Jason says. "Her?" Derek points to me.
Jason eyeballs him.
Derek shakes my shoulder. "I knows I was only kidding, right?"
"Wrong." I sniff. I'm still seething inside with raserei, rage. He pulls at the side of his mustache. "I was just having a little fun."
I walk right past him back into the studio. He follows me inside. "I'll make it up to you, don't worry."
"I'm not worried," I say, even though I am. I take the seat farthest away from him.
Jason whispers into my ear. "Don't forget we have The Love Shack coming up at seven, and I'm counting on Sweet T to pull through."
I smile. She's the one that got me to stand up to Derek. Even if I ran out of the studio and leaked a few tears, I still said something.
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Now if only I could get Sweet T to rough up a few other people for me!
Derek stays clear of me for most of the show. Surprisingly, he cracks very few jokes and actually does his job. He only sends one shout-out to all the ladies, and when he picks up the phone lines, he doesn't invite every girl to join him on Saturday night at Club Foil on South Beach. Only every other girl.
At six, Derek announces that it's teaser time and turns on the mike. "Coming up at seven we have The Love Shack with Jason Stevens filling in for Paul Garrison. In the studio with Jason tonight will be Sweet T, the lady of mystery. If you want to know more about her Or make a request, give the SLAM lines a call at 1-800-555-SLAM . ."
My body stiffens. He had to say something, didn't he?
Jason punches me in the shoulder. "Derek's got to talk up the show. That's what spices things up."
He's got a point. I'm just extrasensitive today. I'm still seething from yesterday after my mom basically said I was bound to mess up any second and Stacy embarrassed me in English class again in front of Gavin.
"I guess." It's my turn to pick up a few phone lines. That's when it hits me that Gavin could be listening again. I would love to be a fly on his wall and watch him enjoy the show. Although, even if I were there, I don't really know what I'd see. Him jumping up and down, bugging out to the tunes? I doubt it. I'm sure his earbuds are in and he's just doing one math problem after another.
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"92.7 The SLAM."
"Are you the hot chick?" a strange, whispery voice asks. "What?"
"Are you wearing a blue T-shirt?"
I look down at my shirt just to confirm. "Yeah," I whisper into the phone.
"Your hair is really thick." Okay, now I'm officially freaked out. My lungs are filling up fast with air and I'm having trouble breathing. Is there a webcam in here?
"I know who you are," the caller says.
My hands are all sweaty, and the receiver slips to the floor with a bang.
Derek cracks up. I glance at him just in time to see him shutting his cell phone.
I use what feels like my last breath to utter, "Asshole." Sweet T comes through again.
I look over at Jason for support. He's laughing, too. But when he catches sight of my face, he immediately turns it into a frown. "Man, that was wrong."
"Lighten up, T. It was only a joke. I pull that one on all the interns," Derek says.
I can't believe it didn't register in his pea-sized brain that I despised him after he asked me if I wanted a piece of him. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. "I do not need this."
"We've got to get you out more." Derek brings up his last track for the night. Gracie May with "Dumped."
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I better pull myself together for The hove Shack. I can't let Derek mess things up for me.
I need to pick out some fresh tunes for Gavin. Derek lets me scan through the mp3 files to start off the show. I know Gavin said he likes edgier stuff, so I go with Juice Box and Mintpaste. I also want to introduce something new, so I find a song by a band called Shrinking Violet that's just making it to the scene. They're from Seattle and their single is
"Can You See Me?"
I listen to it a few times to make sure it fits into the love format. With the lines, "If love is blind, then why are you tearing me apart" and "you left me in so much pain, I'm bleeding inside out," I figure it'll work. Either that or half the audience will be suicidal by the end of the night.
"Have you ever heard of the band Shrinking Violet?" I ask Derek.
He laughs. "Ha, you would like a band like that."
"Like what?"
"Shrinking . . violet . . get it?"
Huh? I don't hide the puzzled expression on my face. I look around for the closest weapon--a stapler--in case I need to smack him over the head.
When I don't answer, he continues, "A shrinking violet is a very shy person."
Oh, that's it? I actually let out a sigh of relief. I was waiting for one of his unfunny sexist remarks. "I have nothing to say, then." I hand him the headphones to give the song a listen.
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"Clever," he says and slides them on.
I have heard of people being called shrinking violets before, but I didn't really make the connection when I heard the band's name. Anyway, violets are beautiful and the band rocks, so I'll take it as a compliment.
Only after Derek is long gone does my stomach settle. Okay, calling me from his cell was kind of funny, but I'd never admit that to his face. It'd only fuel more pranks at my expense. The want some of this hip shake did not register on the humor meter at all. I still can't believe I actually sort of stood up to him. I know girls like Stacy or Kelly would've kicked him in the balls, but just leaving the room was a big step for me.
Two years ago, I was on the Metrorail after a trip to Bayside Marketplace with Audrey and a bunch of band kids. It was pretty late at night, and there were a lot of drunk people coming back from a soccer game. I was smushed in a seat against the window, and a sweaty, smelly guy sat down next to me. I had a couple of shopping bags on my lap and he kept on rubbing up against me. At first I thought it was because the bags were on his side, so I moved them right up to the window. That only gave him more ammo, and he pressed his hairy leg smack against mine. I didn't even try to move. Not once. It was like I was frozen. I never looked at his face, though. He got off a few stops before mine, but I stayed pressed against the window until Audrey yelled my name to make sure I got off with the rest of the band. Everyone was giggling about the night and how much fun it was to play at
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the waterfront. I was so ashamed about the guy that I didn't speak the rest of the way home. And I didn't tell anyone what happened, not even Audrey.
Jason comes back in the studio after filling up his coffee mug. "Tere, you want to take the lead after this song?"
"I don't know." I bite my lip. I hear Mom in the back of my head, warning me not to screw up.
"We can't get anywhere if we don't take chances." Jason smiles.
"I knew you'd say something smart like that."
"Hey, I didn't receive a degree from the Miami Fashion Institute for nothing," he says.
"You have a degree in fashion?"
"What, you can't tell?"
He runs his hands up and down his sides, showing off his crisp white button-down and black Guess jeans.
"You do dress really nice." I look down at my own clothes. Blue tee, worn Gap jeans, and Nikes. And this is my good outfit.
"Thanks, I try." He glances at the clock. "You're on in sixty seconds."
Sixty seconds. Well, it wouldn't matter if he said six thousand, I'd still feel jittery. All I have to remember is that I did it yesterday. I quickly transform back into on-air mode. I take a few deep breaths and stare at the mike. I think of Gavin in his dimly lit bedroom finishing his homework and zoning out to the tunes. I think of Gavin with his hand on my shoulder in class and the
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warmth that he gave me. I hope he liked the Shrinking Violet single. It was especially for him.
Jason hands me a few love dedications and tells me to read them and say the station ID.
Another deep breath, and he gives me the five-second countdown. Now it's all me.
Don't let me down, Sweet T.
"Hey, Miami, this is Sweet T, hanging out with Jason Stevens on The Love Shack. We have a few dedications for you. Happy twenty-first to Lucas from Mimi. April, Juan says he'll love you forever, and Brit can't wait for her baby daddy, James, to get home tonight for some . . you fill in the blank . . So call us up at 1-800-555-SLAM if you want your dedication aired." I turn sideways to face Jason. "Man, my heart was pounding like a gorilla."
"Tere." Jason points to the on-air light. He reaches over me and quickly shuts it off.
My face feels hotter than the sun. "Did they hear me?" I gasp.
"Yeah, probably. But you didn't say anything incriminating."
It's not me I'm worried about. He called me by my name. Tere. "Did they hear you?" I'm hyperventilating now and grab Jason's chair for support.
"Hear me what?" He looks confused.
"Say my name!"
"No, definitely not. I was a few feet from the mike. The pickup isn't that good."
My face has not cooled down. Not one bit. I hope he knows CPR.
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"Trust me, Tere. If there's not a nuke directly in front of you, they can't hear you." He puts a hand on my shoulder. "Breathe. You look like you're about to burst."
Tell me about it. After that, I take a break from the air. Hopefully, Mom didn't hear the part about the gorilla. The last thing I need is her saying that associating yourself with a gorilla is very bad for your image. And hopefully the rest of the world, including Gavin, didn't hear Jason call me Tere.
But after I pick up a few phone lines and no one says anything about it, I feel a lot better. They don't mention my gorilla comment either. They just want to tell so and so how much they love them and so and so that they can have their baby anytime. That's fine with me. Have all the babies you want as long as you don't call me by my real name.
Jason convinces me to end the show. I figure I have nothing to lose. "Miami, we're leaving you tonight with Speed Bump and 'Capture My Love.' Sleep tight and we'll see you here tomorrow night, same place, same time on The Love Shack 92.7 The SLAM." I make sure I shut off the mike right away.
Jason high-fives me. "Whew, we did it."
We're meeting after school at Kayla's to work on the project, so I told Derek I'd be an hour late. Hopefully we'll be done by then. Since Kayla is the only one with wheels, we all meet at her car. It's less than a five-minute ride to her house, so I can catch the bus at my usual stop.
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Kayla sets us up at her kitchen table. The kitchen lets in a lot of sun and smells like fresh lemons. The place is gleaming. I'm afraid to press my sneakers against the white tiles in case they leave scuff marks.
I quickly take the seat next to Gavin. He's wearing all black again today; with his dark eyes and black hair, you'd think he'd look like a corpse, but he actually looks hot. The rich black is a nice contrast to his milky white skin. It's like when you dunk an Oreo into a glass of milk.
I stare at his face to see if there are any signs that he knows I'm Sweet T. He doesn't even look over at me. Maybe he's disgusted by the gorilla comment.
I shiver. That studio mike could be the death of me.
Kayla has a new hot-pink folder in front of her, entitled Internet Research. Oh, brother.
She doesn't even wait until she sits down to start blabbing, "Okay, so I did a little investigating last night and found the perfect idea for Tere."
Gavin and I both glare at her. We know better than to stop her mid-idea.
"I knew there was more to Helen Keller than you told us, so I googled her and found out that as a child she performed in vaudeville shows . ."
Damn, she found me out. What's next? She's going to tell me that Helen was a nudist?
That's where I draw the line.
"Like a circus act?" Gavin asks.
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"Not exactly. Vaudeville is a theatrical act consisting of various performances, which can include singing, dancing, and pantomime."
What, did she memorize the dictionary?
"And?" Gavin folds the corner of the flowered place mat in front of him.
"She can do a mime performance." Kayla yanks the place mat out of Gavin's reach.
I shake my head and mutter, "Ahh."
"Or would you rather speak?" Kayla dangles the word "speak" over my head like an evil captor might.
Hmm? An image runs through my head of the first time Helen went to the ocean. She was so excited that she plunged right in. Unaware of its vastness, she had no fear. I need to think of this project as just our group in the front of the classroom. Not me, alone in front of a room full of students. I need to do it my way.
"How about if I spell words into people's hands to communicate with them? Helen did that," I say.
Kayla rubs her chin. Gavin and I both eye each other.
"Yeah, I read that," she finally speaks. "It's pretty neat. You could spell a few things into my hand when we do our introduction." Kayla quickly jots that down.
I look over at Gavin. His hands are resting on the table. He's wearing a silver thumb ring today. I wish I could trace the lines of his palms.
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When Kayla's finished writing, she hands Gavin a couple of sheets of blue paper. "What's this?" he asks.
"Just info on Stephen King's band, The Rock Bottom Remainders, if you need any inspiration for your song." She pushes the stapler over to him. This girl must max out her mom's credit card at Office Depot.
"Thanks. I've got a couple of their songs. They're not bad."
"How's your song?" I ask.
"Going pretty well. Not ready for the radio yet."
"What do you mean?"
"I heard a new band last night and . . no, it's pretty stupid, forget it . ." He lowers his head and traces the grooves of wood in the table.
"What?" I lightly place my hand on his shoulder. The electric current is back, sending waves through my body. He looks up, and I force myself not to let nerves pull me away from the warmth of his back.
"I heard this cool band, Shrinking Violet, and was thinking how amazing it would be to go from fooling around in your garage to all of a sudden hearing your song on the radio. Big dream, I know," he says.
I want to yell, I chose that song for you! I guess that means Jason was right--nobody heard him or me. Phew, I can breathe again.
The phone rings and Kayla runs to answer it. "Is that the kind of stuff you play?" I ask.
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"Yeah, I like to think. Not too realistic, huh?" He looks up at me, and his face is just inches from mine. My nerves are working overdrive. I can hardly stand it. I want to pull him closer and feel his lips against mine. But I remind myself that we are in Kayla's kitchen.
"No, it's great!" I say a little too loud to drown out the thumping of my own heart.
"Thanks. I can't wait to listen to that show tonight, in case they have any other new tunes." I look into Gavin's eyes. They are glowing.
"Which show?" I bite my lip.
&nbs
p; "The Love Shack. The show I mentioned earlier. Jason's been on this week with some chick."
"Chick?" I'm a chick? Chicken? Hot chicken? KFC Girl?
He blushes. "Sorry, that was rude. But she sounds cute. She goes by the name Sweet T
and she has a sexy voice."
"Really?" I say, with a little more raspiness than usual. Hello, I'm right here next to you.
But of course I can't say what I'm really thinking.
Wait, does that mean he likes her more than me? Is it possible to be jealous of yourself?
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chapter SIXTEEN
Mom calls from the hairdresser and asks me to pop the chicken in the oven for dinner.
And no, she didn't make it. She bought it at Stella's Marketplace, famous for their gourmet food. She's busy getting highlights at the salon, but says she'll be home soon. I fix a garden salad and baked potatoes, too. Tonight is my first night off in a couple of weeks, and I'm spending it with Mom and Rob. I hope that's not a recipe for disaster.
I'm sprawled on the couch, flipping through channels, when Rob gets home. He heads straight for the fridge to grab a beer.
"Mind if I join you?" He slides into his La-Z-Boy and kicks off his boots.
It's your house, dude. "No."
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He stretches his legs out. "Man, I'm starved."
"Dinner's ready. Just waiting for Mom." I catch a glimpse of PJ Squid, shirtless on MTV, lounging in a beach chair. It's a promo for his upcoming album, Calamari. Mmm, would I love a bite of him.
"Thanks. Played a round of golf today with a couple of guys from the bank, worked up my appetite."
Slightly more exciting than my day of sleeping until noon, obsessing over whether Gavin likes me, and cramming for my physics and sociology exams.
I hear the front door unlock and Mom's bracelets jangling. She's also gabbing on the phone. She never makes a quiet entrance. "What do you think?" Mom stands in front of the TV, still on her cell. Her two hundred dollar highlights could not be achieved naturally by even the best sunbather.
Be smart, Rob. If you say the right thing, we can eat quicker.
"Beautiful," he says, then gets up and cups his hands around Mom's face. "Makes you look ten years younger."
Shrinking Violet Page 10
